Poor Nitpicker: His beloved Korean rice-bowl joint, Chego, has moved to a new neighborhood. What's a lazy takeout addict to do?

Welcome to The Nitpicker.Jason Kessler loves to complain almost as much as he loves to eat. Join him on his journey through the imperfect universe of food.

(Credit: Erik Peterson)

This weekend marks the grand opening ofKorean rice bowl emporium Chego's new location in Los Angeles's oftenoverlooked Chinatown. Based on tweets and Facebook posts, people seem to beexcited about this fact. I am not among them. You see,Chego used to be one of my absolute favorite takeout spots. It wasthe perfect sub-$10 dinner, despite the obvious drawbacks of beingone of the most customer-unfriendlyrestaurants I've ever encountered. (Seriously, Roy Choi, the chefbehind the operation, just admitted on Bourdain's new CNN showthat he operates under a "you'll get what I give you" philosophy.That sucks, Roy.) But their "Chubby Pork Belly" bowl was the ultimateflavor mash and a billion times better than most of my other takeoutoptions. And then they left me.

When a restaurant moves away, it's like that time your best friend in third grade moved to Idaho. You're hurt, although nobody is intentionally hurting you.You're lost, although you know exactly where your displacedfriend/restaurant happens to be. You're angry, although it's really just sadnessdisguised as anger. Basically, you go through all five of ElisabethKubler-Ross's Stages of Grief until you hit acceptance and move onwith your life. I'm not quite at acceptance. I'm at depression. That means I'meating a lot of pizza to fill the rice bowl void. And while the holytrinity of cheese, sauce, and crust is comforting, it's not enough toreplace the gochujang-lacquered kurobuta pork belly that's missingfrom my heart.

Obviously, there's a solution here. Icould just get off my lazy ass and drive to the new Chego location.If I miss it that much, why don't I? That's agood question, but I have a better answer: it defeats the purpose oftakeout. Takeout, by definition, is about convenience. It'sthe place you can stop at on your way home from work. It's the last-minute "there's nothing in the fridge"/ "I'm not eating anothersalad"/ "I'm starving right now so what can I shove in my facethe fastest?" type place, and that means it has to be close. I'mtalking within two miles or under ten minutes, whichever comessoonest. For me, that was Chego. I even had a secret route to getthere, which shaved a full five minutes off the drive. Those days areover.

Now Chego is no longer an option. It's a destination restaurant, and that means it goes into thegreater pool of longer-distance Los Angeles dining choices. Before, I couldask myself if I wanted Chego more than the kebab place or the littleItalian joint. The answer was almost always yes. Now the question ismuch larger. Do I want Chego more than the orecchiette at OsteriaMozza? More than the incomparable white slices at Vito's Pizzeria?More than a Godmother sub from Bay Cities? Probably not. It's good,but is it "one-hour round-trip" good? Sorry, Roy.

Past relationships look different whenthe original context changes. Whether it's running into an oldgirlfriend at the grocery store or walking past an office where youused to work, that twinge of sadness and nostalgia usually morphs into a moment of realization: it didn'twork out for a reason. The loss of Chego has hit me hard, but I'llget over it. Perhaps the old Chego location will turn into an evenbetter takeout option--a Chicago-style hot dog stand, perhaps, or areally good taco shop. In the wake of restaurant bereavement, hope isthe only way forward.

Based in Los Angeles, Jason Kessler has written for television shows such as NBC's The Office, True Jackson, VP on Nickelodeon, and The MTV Movie Awards.